Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Village of Barloch
Beneath Caerith’s Shadow
They crossed the narrow bridge that spanned the stream and entered Barloch. A few villagers paused their work to watch them pass, more curious than cautious. Chickens scattered from the road, and a cart creaked by, drawn by a single mule whose harness jingled softly in the still air.
The inn stood near the square, its weathered sign creaking on its hook. A faint scent of wood smoke drifted through the open doorway along with the murmur of voices and the clatter of mugs.
Dar dismounted first, tying the horse to a post. He turned to Elara, reaching to take her by the waist and lift her off the horse.
Once on her feet, he leaned his head low and warned, “Keep your hood up and your tongue still.”
She nodded and followed alongside him.
Inside, the air was thick with warmth and the tang of ale. A half-dozen men sat at rough-hewn tables, their talk dropping to a murmur when Dar and Elara entered. Eyes followed them, this time more cautious than curious.
Dar took hold of her arm, as if to let all know she belonged to him, as he guided her toward a table in the corner.
“Wait here. I’ll see to the horses and our lodging.”
His tone left no room for question, so Elara sat, drawing her cloak close.
She watched him approach the counter where the innkeeper stood, a broad man with thinning hair, a beard streaked gray, and a skeptical look in his eyes.
The two spoke quietly, the innkeeper’s brow lifting as he leaned forward as if their exchange was meant to stay private.
Dar did most of the talking until the innkeeper nodded quickly, before gesturing toward the stairs that led to the rooms above.
When Dar turned back, Elara noticed how the others in the room shifted, their eyes following him. A few exchanged glances she couldn’t read, part recognition, part wariness, as though they knew him or perhaps knew of him.
He moved easily, unbothered by the stares, and yet there was something in his gait, a confidence edged with caution that made her wonder if he was no stranger to this place.
He dropped down on the bench across from her, his cloak falling open, the firelight catching the faint sheen of his dagger’s hilt. “We’ve a room for the night and a stall for the horses.”
“It is a good thing we have coin now,” she said, and he nodded, silence settling between them as they both scanned the room.
The serving woman arrived with two trenchers of stew and a loaf of bread. Elara murmured her thanks and as she reached for the spoon, her eyes caught glances cast their way from the other tables.
“They know you,” she whispered.
“Do they?” he asked, tearing a piece of bread as if it mattered not to him.
“They keep staring.”
He shrugged. “Curiosity, nothing more. Not many strangers come through Barloch.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, thinking he dismissed her own curiosity too easily.
His gaze met hers. “Eat your supper, wife. The day’s been long and don’t look for problems where there are none.”
Elara looked down at her bowl, but the question lingered.
If he truly was only a wanderer, why did the inhabitants of a borderland village—one caught between three powerful realms—look at him like a man remembered, not merely noticed?
But then he was a wanderer, what could he have done the last time he was here to be remembered and more so with caution than curiosity?
The stew was rich with barley and herbs, the kind of simple fare that would have satisfied her on any other night.
But Elara’s mind wasn’t on the food. Every mile of the journey, the last few nights spent beneath trees and rain, had brought her here to Feena.
She could not rest or waste her thoughts, not now that they’d reached the village.
She glanced toward the window where dusk was gathering. “I’ll finish quickly. We should go to Feena before night falls.”
Dar tore another piece of bread, dipping it into the gravy, his voice stern. “You’ll do no such thing. We’ve been four days on the road with little rest and less food. You’ll eat, then sleep, and go to her in the morning when the light’s good.”
“This cannot wait,” Elara argued.
He didn’t look up from his meal. “And if you collapse at her door, what good will that do?”
Elara bit back a sigh, her impatience prickling. “You sound more like a guard than a husband.”
He looked at her then, a hint of amusement glinting in his gray eyes. “I’m whatever keeps you in one piece.”
She might have smiled, had she not felt the weight of so many eyes still glancing their way. Men leaned close over their mugs, their talk muted, the air thick with something unspoken. She couldn’t tell if it was suspicion, curiosity, or recognition, and it unnerved her.
Her spoon stilled in her hand. “They’re staring again.”
“Aye,” Dar said easily. “Folks in border villages always stare. They weigh every face that passes through, deciding if it means trouble or coin.”
“But it’s you they keep watching, not me.”
He tore another bite of bread, unbothered. “I’ve been told I’m worth looking at.”
She couldn’t deny that. Even with the scruff that had grown thicker on his face, it didn’t hide his exceptional features.
She frowned more at herself than him for thinking so frivolously when serious matters were at hand.
She may enjoy his kisses but there was no future with him, he was a wanderer and she—an herb-scribe mistaken as a healer and snatched up at any moment and swept away to who knew where.
She shook her head to clear it as she said, “You’re avoiding the question.”
“Because the answer doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, “What is it you want to know, wife?”
Elara met his gaze. “Why do they stare at you with caution?”
He leaned forward, his face close to hers. “A drunken moment I wish to forget and obviously they have not. Now eat.”
She took a couple spoonfuls of the stew before deciding she needed to settle her curiosity. “What made you a wanderer?”
His expression didn’t change, but the light in his eyes faded like a shutter closing.
“Nothing I’ll talk about,” he said sharply and with a distinct finality. “Now eat so we may rest.”
She didn’t pursue it, though it gnawed at her as did his dictate. “I prefer we go find Feena.”
He kept his voice low but firm. “You’ll do as I say. We’ll go at first light. I want to see what sort of folk this Feena keeps around her before we go knocking at her door.”
Elara nodded, since he made sense, though every part of her bristled. “At first light, then.”
They exchanged few words as they ate, Elara enjoying the stew and the warmth of the inn.
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Dar was right about waiting until morning to visit Feena.
Several yawns had proven she was tired and needed a good night’s sleep so she would have a clear mind when she spoke with the old woman.
“You need to sleep,” Dar said and stood and came around the table to take hold of her arm and help her to her feet.
The murmurs in the room rose again as they passed by, too soft to make out, but Elara could feel the unease prickling her skin.
When they reached the stairs, she cast one last glance over her shoulder.
Several of the men whispered while others still watched them, and though she couldn’t hear their words, she saw the look they shared.
One that told her plainly that whatever had happened the last time Dar was here, it had not been forgotten.
The scent of fresh pine and churned earth hung heavily in the air. It came from Dar standing a few feet away.
“It is the only way. Trust me,” he said and walked toward her.
She backed up but he reached out and took hold of her arm, stopping her from taking another step.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered close, then kissed her.
She welcomed his kiss, returned it and before she knew it, they were both naked, the hearth’s firelight casting a soft glow over their bodies.
His body was sculpted, as if a fine hand had drawn him to perfection.
His glance traveled over her, admiring her curves and angles, then he scooped her up and carried her to bed.
No fear ran through her only desire, the need to touch him and to be touched as if they both had waited for this moment, hungered for it.
His strong hand was quick to roam over her in a feather-like touch, skimming her flesh faintly and sending a rash of gooseflesh over her and a jolt of passion through her.
She reached out to explore him, but he pushed her hand away.
“Nay, I have waited long enough for you, and I will not last if you touch me. I will see this done, seal our fate.”
He slipped over her, nudging her legs apart and she spread them, inviting him in, eager for him to be there.
She felt his shaft between her legs, thick and hard, poking at her entrance, and she grew more eager, more anxious, fearful. Why was she fearful? What did she have to fear from Dar?
She shut her eyes as the scent of fresh pine and churned earth grew stronger and she stirred uneasily beneath him. She went to open her eyes to see what was wrong and found it difficult.
She fought to open them and when she finally did, she couldn’t place where she was. The soft crackle of dying embers in the hearth, the muted gray light of dawn slipping through the window, all of it was unfamiliar yet faintly comforting. Then she saw him.
Dar sat against the door, cloak pulled loosely around him, his head tilted to the side in what looked like sleep. The room was still except for the steady sound of his breathing.
A dream, not a vision, she thought.
She shifted slightly, the blanket rustling, and her eyes half-closed again. Sleep tugged at her, but something stirred beneath it, a low hum, a pulse like a heartbeat that wasn’t her own.
Then came the vision.
The forest, dark and heavy with mist.
Dar stood among the trees, his breath rising white in the cold air.